


Diary From the Front

by Raelae



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Diary/Journal, F/M, War of Ishval
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:22:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelae/pseuds/Raelae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riza Hawkeye finds herself shipped off to fight in the war of Ishval, and she has no idea what to expect. She decides to keep a record of what she experiences during her time spent there, and so sits down and begins a journal. These are her entries. This is her spiral away from innocence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diary From the Front

Mid Spring, 1908

 

I've finally reached the front lines with a good many of my comrades. Already the sight is more than I can bare. Many of the buildings are riddled with holes, still others are barely standing. In the few areas that aren't seeing battle, young children are stumbling about with bare feet, stepping over god knows what as they pick through rubble and debris. I stood and watched as children would wave their arms frantically after digging for a while, and men would rush to them. Not long after, they would pull out a body, maybe even more than one. That was unsettling in itself, but the look on the children's faces were even more unsettling. There was no emotion. I stood there, for how long I'm not sure, but I stood there and watched as child after child searched for the dead. They have been through this for so long that they're desensitized to it now. It effects them very little. Heaven help us if this war goes on much longer, because those children will be the next that we face. And I fear by then, that they will feel nothing at all. Which is the most dangerous thing ever.

 

Mid Spring, 1908, Entry Two

 

I've been here a week now, and already I have seen much action. The Ishvalan's fight with a ferocity I've yet to have seen. Of course, maybe that's saying quite a bit, since this is the first action I've ever seen. But I have read much, which I suppose is still nothing to actually being there, but even so; I've read nothing like this. Maybe it's because they have more at stake? Not only their homes and families are at threat, but their very way of life, their religion. It too is threatened. I hear many soldiers talked badly of their beliefs, to which I find my reaction to not be the same. Religion is religion and should never be on trial, or a reason for war. This isn't the case here of course, there are other reasons for this war, but it doesn't stop the others from attacking it. Some have no belief system whatsoever and yet they still have the audacity to do so.  
I myself don't have a view on the subject, and so I probably shouldn't even worry about it. But there's just a part of me that doesn't understand any of this in a whole. Religion, ethnicity...what does it matter really? They are still our own people, and yet we shed their blood as easily as we draw breath each day. But this is war I suppose, perhaps my views will change by the end. But...I hope they do not. For I'll know at that moment, that as a human I have died, and will be so no longer.

 

Mid Spring, 1908, Entry Three

 

It's been two weeks since I've updated this, and summer is fast moving in. But we have been too busy for me to give this journal any attention. For these two weeks I have been in skirmish after skirmish, trying my best to find desirable positions to set up my rifle and give my fellow soldiers cover from the advancing Ishvalan forces.  
I found this to be quite difficult though as the Ishvalan's seemed to crawl out of every crevice throughout the city. With so few of the buildings left in any kind of a useful state, I find it hard for them to do so. Most no longer have roofs and I have clear sight straight through. Yet, despite this, they still manage to keep themselves from my keen eyes.

The best thing I could come up with is the most simplest thing. Camouflage. In a desert it's simple to find any kind of tan covering to hide yourself amongst the sand. I suppose that was something I should have thought about right off, and if anyone were to ever read this they may think me stupid. But it's amazing, even with as much training as we have, how easily we can be duped. I challenge anyone to have to act quickly with bullets whizzing passed your head. To try to pick off a target to protect your comrades while being fired upon yourself. To be a sniper is a dangerous thing…snipers must die. They are the one thing, no matter the side of the combatants, that must be destroyed. Just that alone, makes everything in battle more difficult.  
...have I made a mistake coming here? What have I done?

 

Early Summer, 1908, Entry Four

 

We continue to do our part in the war. A lot of the time we become cleanup for the Alchemists though. When we aren't out on our own missions, they send us in to finish off any survivors that may have somehow escaped the Alchemists. As a sniper I am excluded from this task of course, they can't risk my death. But I do take up a position to watch my comrades backs as they commit the deed. Sometimes...as much as it scares me...I think how easily I could stop them from killing. My own men are always in my sights, I could take them out at any moment and allow for a few of the Ishvalan's to escape. But I always shake that though from myself. Some of these men probably don't even want to do this, but they don't have a choice. Although I do know many do actually enjoy this senseless bloodshed, I don't know who does or doesn't. I live my life primarily on my own, away from the others, I rarely talk if it's not necessary. So I can't judge those I don't know...nor do I have the right to anyway. These are my own men, how could I think that way? What am I becoming?

 

Early Summer, 1908, Entry Five

 

We were pinned down badly today. The area was supposed to be cleared, and the men were doing a simple sweep. Well, it should have been simple. But the area hadn't been cleared at all and they caught us off guard. We were surrounded, being fired on from all sides. There was only twelve of us, and three went down right off. Chanty and Mullen took multiple shots to the chest...Gibson...well lets just say only his tags will ID him.

We scattered after that though, trying our best to find cover. I found a building nearby that still was for the most part in tact, and made my way up to the top level. As soon as I came through the door on the roof I dropped low and crawled along. There was a break in the waist high wall that surrounded the roof, and I made my way to it. I set myself up and went about picking people off. It was odd this time though...so different from the many times before. It was like...like I was a machine or something. I didn't register much at the moment, only after all was said and done did everything come back to me. One after the other I took them out. It was so quick too. Aim, shoot, eject the casing, repeat.

I went on like that for what seemed like forever, but it was only a matter of minutes. Even after all the Ishvalan's were dropped, I just laid there and stared down my sights, almost daring another to pop their heads up. The remaining men before me were cheering up at me, but I hadn't heard it at the moment. I just stared at the scene below me. Six of our men were dead, scattered about were the twenty that had ambushed us. I had dropped each one of them with a single shot to the head, not needing a second shot for any of them. And I did all of that without thought.

When I returned I was praised and offered a bottle of Brandy for my exploits, which is saying a bit since alcohol isn't allowed in camp. But I was given it anyway by a CO, along with a new nickname. The Hawks Eye, works well with my last name I suppose. The old me would have denied the title, but now...I think it suits me quite well. I think I'll keep it, along with this bottle. Hell, I think I may just dive into this bottle right now.

 

Mid Summer, 1908, Entry Six

 

The city has been all but wasted by this point. The Alchemists have been doing their jobs with exemplary skill, if you can call it skill. It's straight up slaughter, there's no getting around that. Order 3066 indeed...But by this point in time I'm beyond caring what it is or what it's even called. I've never been as tired as I am now, and never have I wanted to return home more than I do now. And that is saying much on that subject. Home was often the one place I wasn't keen on being. Going home to a father who had become nothing more than a stranger to me, a madman. That's what that Alchemy did to him, that's what it turned him into. It's what killed him in my honest opinion. He was so driven to discover it's secrets that he cared little for his health...or for me even. And that is why I believe it drove his mind to mush, and stole the health from his body. Made him...made him make me bare it's secrets. And I fear...it will do the same to Roy…

Dear...how did I get so off track? It's just been such a long week I suppose, my mind can't keep to one general area. I honestly don't even know why I'm writing all this. Maybe just to make sure I don't forget. To make myself pay the rest of my days for the sins I've committed here. Yes...I suppose that is the truth. I have to carry this weight forever...that and, maybe, I want to make sure a record is kept so people always know what happened here. So their heads aren't filled with the romanticized versions of this part of history. Because people always find a way to romanticize war. And that's one thing that should never be. War isn't glory. It's hell.

 

Mid Summer, 1908, Entry Seven

 

I saw him today, Roy. It's the first time during this whole affair that I've laid eyes on him. The poor man, he looks so tired. I know that look quite well, I carry the same one. It's not just the physical tired, it's the mental tired as well. That's how you tell the humans apart from the monsters, they wear their sins on their sleeves. Their smiles are forced, conversations executed without ever locking eyes on the person you're talking to. A shell of yourself...a person here but not really here.

But he just looks so...I can't really describe the look on his face. It's almost like...carrying a regret? And it doesn't look like the regret one carries with war, I can't really explain it. I'd ask him but, I'm sure it's personal. Plus, although I've seen him, I didn't let him see me. I'm not sure if he'd really like to see me this way...I don't even like seeing me this way…

 

Late Summer, 1908, Entry Seven

 

The Ishvalan's have been getting desperate as of late. Many have been trying suicide attacks, a very uncommon move for them. But I suppose they're in a corner they can't easily work their way out of. They're on their final legs I think. Bringing the Alchemists in was the final nail in the coffin for them, I mean, who can defend against that? No worries of running out of ammunition when you don't need it. The land itself is your weapon and it's the most plentiful thing around. All you need is some form of object or element, a Transmutation Circle and boom, the end.

Speaking of boom, had an unfortunate run in with a one Solf J. Kimblee today. I detest that man...and fear him. Those eyes...they're so...he's so...cold. I was chatting with Roy and a friend of his, Hughes. Oh yeah, by the way, I did show myself to Roy finally, if that isn't obvious here. Though why I'm explaining that like someone else is reading this I have no idea. I think I really have lost my mind.

But anyway, I was chatting with them, asking about our purpose in this god forsaken war, when Kimblee poked his nose into it. I can't say the words he spoke weren't true, in fact they were very true. And maybe that's what made me hate him most in that moment...or hate myself even in that moment. Because he said, 'The one thing worse than death is to avert your eyes from it. Look straight at the people you kill. Don't take your eyes off them for a second. And don't ever forget them, because I promise that they won't forget you.'

...I know he's right there. I wouldn't blame any of the people I've killed if they decided to haunt me for the rest of my life, assuming I survive this anyway.  
But coming from that psychopath makes it almost sounds meaningless. He has no choice but to remember because he has that damned photographic memory. Plus I think he'd choose to remember anyway because...well I've seen that man work. He enjoys it. And I swear, it's worse than any of the other men who enjoy killing all these poor people here. It's almost as if...dare I say I must be blunt here, it's almost like he gets off on it. He's a disturbing enough man as it is already but, with that thought in mind...it makes me shudder in disgust.  
I'm not the kind of person who would usually say something like this but...I hope that man dies a terrible death in this war. If not here, then elsewhere. I just want his death to be terrible, so he'll pay for what he's done.

 

Early Fall, 1908, Entry Eight

 

I look at this journal today and I wonder how I don't have many entries. It's not as though there isn't anything to write down here, there's often times more things to write here then I think this journal could hold. I don't know if it's just the fact that I simply just don't have time, or if I just neglect it a bit because I'm not willing to think about the things that have happened in my day to day life here. And I suppose it doesn't matter really, this journal would do little justice to what happened here. The words one can place to paper can do much to place the pictures into readers minds, but pictures just aren't enough. You can see the hell, but you only see a portion of the hell. You can never truly understand hell till you've lived it as well. It's easy to be moved by words or pictures, it's another thing to feel it. To smell the gunpowder, the stench of death and decay. You can cringe at a picture, but it's nothing compared to standing before a burned body, smelling the burnt flesh and losing every bit of the meal you had that day because of it.

I'm not in any way proud when I say my stomach has built a tolerance to it now...I would rather my stomach still empty itself at the sight. I don't want to be used to that.  
But compared to Roy...I have nothing on that. He's often the one to burn those bodies...everyday. I've more than once caught him standing before the corpses he himself set to flame...and there isn't a time he hasn't gotten sick from it. He tries his best to look so strong but...around me...he doesn't try. He doesn't try to hold it down when it's just me and him, he just doubles over and heaves...and often times I don't know what to do. Being a State Alchemist affords him the rank of Major, much higher than me...but...I've still taken to doing what I can for him in these moments, even if it's just rubbing his back…giving calming words. And he accepts it all. I know it's not proper in rankings but...I think I can assuredly say that we have become close friends.

 

Late Fall, 1908, Entry Nine

 

I feel like these entries are starting to become a chore now. I don't even really want to do them anymore, there's no real purpose to them. Yes, I did at the beginning want to make sure some form of record of this conflict existed, a truthful one, and I wanted to use it to shame myself for everything I've done. But what is it really? Making myself feel guilty anytime I look back on this isn't going to bring the multitudes of people I've killed, no, MURDERED; back from the massive graves I've put them into. And not even one of their own. Men, women, and children are buried feet away from me in one giant grave. And there's multiple graves like that out there! Bodies just flung into a giant...ditch basically, without any sort of word said for their passing. Another bunch was buried in a mass grave yesterday, and one of the soldiers burying them actually stood at the edge and pissed on them! What kind of human being does something like that? They're dead, what more can they do to you? 

I wonder more and more now just how worthy this country is of existing. It's a wonder everyone seems to hate us, look what we do to people. No one deserves to die the way many of them have, but they in no way need to be defiled AT ALL in death. Damn this country...damn this country and damn this journal. I'm done with it.

 

Late Winter, 1908, Entry Ten

 

Well...despite what I said I seem to be back here again. I admit I was in a bad place when I wrote that last one. I'm not the only one, many of the men here are at the ends of their ropes, in some cases literally. The sheer number of suicides lately are staggering. People are tired, tired of fighting, tired of killing these poor people.  
There is a rumor going around though, that the war may almost be over. And looking around here...I can see that being true. When I walk outside my tent now, I rarely see an Ishvalan. Any that managed to survive the mass killings have snuck off to hide in other parts of the country, or other lands entirely. Some, we heard, even went to Aerugo hoping to gain asylum there. Oh how uncaring war can be. They found out fast they were being used, Aerugo turned them away outright. The higher-ups figured out a bit ago that the Aerugians were only supplying the Ishvalan's to help them in the long run on the southern boarders. Once the Ishvalan's became useless to them, they shut them out. There's no more munitions coming in for them anymore either. Their end is indeed near.

 

1909, Entry Eleven

 

It's over, it's finally over. I couldn't write this till we'd gotten on the train, as my hands were shaking too much and I was near tears.  
But the end came with much fanfare. The Fuhrer stood high over everyone, looking smug as always. The soldiers were lined up below him, except for a few here and there, soldiers who were at odds with him. I saw Roy and Hughes among that group, Roy glaring up at the Fuhrer. I was not surprised in the least to see him doing that, he hasn't talked kindly of the Fuhrer in a while. He swears to rise higher and to change things...I hope he does.

I haven't seen Roy since we left Ishval though...I just can't face him right now without breaking down, and I don't want him to see me broken, not again. Before we left he found me...burying an Ishvalan child...a poor child who passed in the last moments of the war, so near freedom and life. Instead...his freedom was death…

Anyway, as I was saying, I didn't want him to see me that way again. There's more pain to come anyway, both in having to live with all I've done for the rest of my days...and with what I asked him to do.  
The secrets, the secrets my father had me carry for him, I've asked Roy to burn them away...I don't want to bare that curse anymore. It's bred madness in my father...and a killer in my friend. I will not allow for this to be passed on to anyone else. This secret...will die with Roy and I.

But for now...I need to take some time for myself, regroup my thoughts as best I can. Then...I'll have him burn the secrets away. And then...as my mind is at last made up, I will stay in the military, and I will ask to serve under him. I'll watch his back, I'll make sure he reaches the top. But for now...I have to get off this train without him seeing me.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something that popped into my head for reasons I do not know. I wanted to write something and I kind of needed a break from the other stories I'm working on, as they are all in major plot land and are killing my brain. So I did this one here.  
> Also since I don't know exactly at what point in the war various things happened, I didn't use dates. Just felt it was easier that way and made an open field as to when things could have happened.


End file.
